“But I can’t,” I whined. He had no idea how hard his request… shit, his demand would be. Even thinking about it had my hands shaking. Beyond my monthly calls to order my supplies, I hadn’t talked to anyone except my brother—and that was only by phone—for several years. I hadn’t even spoken to my mother, but that was for different reasons. Still, being out here was a balm to my soul. I likened it to an adventure, sort of likeMy Side of the Mountain, except without the hawk and I didn’t live in a tree.
“Then you’ll have to come home and talk to Robert. Those are your options, bro.”
Now I knew what they meant by being stuck between a rock and a hard place. I held the phone between my shoulder and ear and wiped my damp palms over my pant legs. He’d left me no viable option, and the bastard knew it.
“Still there?” he asked.
I grabbed my phone again, then snapped, “Yes!” I took a deep breath. I couldn’t have him changing his mind and simply going to the judge. Even though I hated the options given to me, at least they were there. I glanced around my house, looking at the sparse belongings I had. The centerpiece of my home was my bookcase, standing in the center of the wall, surrounded by smaller tables that held my trinkets and baubles. This wasn’t about my fixation on order in my life, at least not entirely. I’d built a home here, and I had no desire to give it up.
“Okay,” I told him. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Fine. You’ve got a week.”
“What?” I spluttered. “You didn’t say anything about a time limit.”
Clay chuckled. “One of my favorite memories growing up is when you convinced me that skunk was the neighbor’s new cat and told me to go pet it. Mom got so pissed when I came home, reeking of skunk spray, and you howled with laughter, even when she made you give me a tomato juice bath.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I demanded, more than a little frustrated with Clay.
“Because I’m not that stupid anymore. I know if I don’t make you do this within a certain time frame, you’re going to hedge until I forget. That won’t be happening either,” he promised.
I sighed, leaning in the chair, resting my head along the back of it. “Fine. I’ll do it within the week.”
“The next time you call me, I want to know his name. No stalling for time, no prevarication, nothing. The only excuse you’ll have is if he stops running by your house.”
“How do you know I won’t just say that?”
“Because it bothers you that he’s doing it, and you won’t be able to let it go. It will gnaw at you until you call me to complain again, and then we’ll both know you lied.”
I slumped into my chair and groaned. Growing up, especially after the incident, Clay had been both savior and bane. He stopped having friends come over because I freaked out anytime someone new came into our house. I’d lock myself away in my room and then have to clean for hours to get rid of any sign of their presence. I knew he didn’t exactly understand it, but he also took on the role of my protector.
By the time the new house was finished and I’ve moved in, Clay had gone away to college. I envied him and the freedoms he had. What must it have been like, with a whole new group of people in a school that had more students than our entire town had citizens? What had he seen? Learned? I couldn’t imagine it. Then Mom called and said he would be coming back to town, and that made no sense to me at all. He’d gotten away from here—why come back?
He called me occasionally, and we would talk. I had no problems with phone calls, at least not from Clay. He told me he’d been hired to be the deputy of the county, and how much he looked forward to seeing me. That never happened. As much as I loved Mom and Clay, they were no longer part of my world, and having them in my house would require me to put things back to rights after they were gone. In essence, I’d be excising them from my life each time, and I couldn’t handle that. Easier to just not let them visit.
I admit, I was proud of him and what he’d accomplished. Roy Campbell retired several years after the incident—partly because he claimed he never really recovered after what happened to me—and Clay became the youngest sheriff in the state. He had the respect and admiration of the majority of the town for his fair and evenhanded policies, which apparently did not extend to me.
“Fine,” I agreed. “If he comes by, I’ll talk to him and get his name. But that’s it, Clay. I won’t do anything else. As soon as I have his name, you promise me you’ll ask him to stop running by my house.”
“No,” Clay replied, his tone harsh. “I’ve told you, there’s no law against running. I can ask him to find another route, but should he say no, I can’t force him to stop. If—and I stress,if—he threatens you, or you feel honestly unsafe because of his presence, then I’ll speak with him.”
At the moment I hated him so much, I hung up. I knew it was a childish act, but I needed balance in my life, and even though it would likely take me months to get used to the jogger being gone if he stopped running by, it would be better than trying to come to terms with having him around.
I COULDN’Tfind it within myself to talk to him for the first four days. I kept hoping he’d stop running by and my life would go back to normal. I should have known better. Ever since the incident, nothing went the way I expected it to. I continued to watch him, and I had to admit, the apprehension that coursed through me had eased. He didn’t really frighten me anymore, but the thought of talking to him filled me with dread. What made it worse for me? He’d continued to glance toward the house, and if he saw me, he’d give a smile or a little wave.
No, I wasn’t being honest. After a few weeks of him waving, I had actually started to weave that into my daily routine. I stood in front of the window, looking out at the road every day at ten thirty. One day it rained, and he was thirteen minutes late. I went into panic mode, hyperventilating and pacing around the house, chastising myself. How had he become a part of my world? Why did I now depend on him to be where I expected him to be? I grew angry with myself for that. Despite the pleading I’d done with Clay, I no longer wanted the man to stop running by my house now that I’d grown used to seeing him.
And worse, when he waved, I had started waving back.
Days five and six were spent trying to psych myself up, telling myself it was no big deal. I only had to ask the man his name. How hard could it be?
Morning broke on day seven. My last chance. I’d hedged as long as I could, and now I had to suck it up to keep my brother off my back. Midmorning, I glanced at the clock and saw it was nearly time for him to begin his first pass by my place. I considered waiting for his return trip at eleven forty-five, but I knew if I didn’t get this over with, I’d chicken out and then have to deal with Clay.
I stepped outside and took a deep breath. The air had a nip to it now that October had come. The changing leaves were beautiful, all gold and red, falling from the trees to where they would become food for the animals, or to wait for spring so they could become part of the circle of life. I’d stored my canned goods in the root cellar, knowing they’d keep me well-fed when the deep winter snows began to pile around my house, and I would curl up, warm and cozy, in front of the small fireplace in my home.
It struck me then like a bolt from the blue. Winter would be here soon. That meant the jogger wouldn’t be coming back this way at least until spring, if ever. After the winter thaws, the roads would be filled with potholes big enough to lose a car in, so why would he want to take that kind of chance? I could feel the tremors in my chest at the thought of my life changing yet again, and I didn’t know if I could handle it.
The house beckoned me, offering safety and security. If I went inside and ignored the jogger for the next month or so, I could wean myself away from expecting him, and maybe the separation wouldn’t be so bad. As I was taking several steps toward the front door, I heard the slap of feet and the steady inhale and exhale. I turned, and he came into view, and the air got sucked from my lungs. He had on thin shorts and no shirt. He reminded me of the stories of Apollo, the Greek god of the sun. His sweat-slick skin literally shone in the morning light.
